


The Plan

by Happyorogeny



Series: The Drow [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Gen, Infertility, M/M, Poison, Pregnancy, Violence, excessive flirting, its much more light-hearted than it sounds i swear, mention of miscarriage, suggested incest, suggestion of Dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:32:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyorogeny/pseuds/Happyorogeny
Summary: Poor abbil. His dearest human had accidentally managed to make himself the most eligible bachelor in the Bregan D’aerthe. And he didn’t even know why.





	The Plan

Poor _abbil_. His dearest human had accidentally managed to make himself the most eligible bachelor in the Bregan D’aerthe. And he didn’t even know why. 

Jarlaxle however knew many things, some of them useful and many of them not. His knowledge included the exact moment that had metamorphosed Artemis from Human Stray that we Ignore to New and Excitingly Volatile Conquest. Three days ago Malai had attempted to push in front of him in the canteen, reaching for the last clean plate. Being both particular about his personal space and possessive of his food Artemis had immediately stabbed him in retaliation, and proceeded to trash the drow fighter in no uncertain terms when he tried to draw his sword.

Malai X’ra was something of a bully, a housefallen male who hadn’t quite accepted his loss of status after been thrown out by his last mistress. Jarlaxle almost felt pity for him, for the man was quite clearly infertile. Drow men already held a precarious place in society and such a condition was one that rendered him worthless. He was lucky that the woman hadn’t killed him out of irritation, and he knew that the bloodlines of house X’ra were now a subject of immense scrutiny and gossip. Such features were usually a sign of inbreeding, and it was now noticed anew that the women of house X’ra didn’t tend to bear many children and very few daughters. 

Rumours he was doing his best to encourage, through a legion of spies and consorts. The matron mother of X’ra had allied with two other high priestesses of late and he knew that they aimed to outlaw mercenary groups. He knew too that they were a trio of joyless and suspicious creatures, having had a dalliance – trillance? – with all of them fairly recently. The rumours of such weakness ought to splinter their agreement nicely.

He did so hope the three houses turned on one another. House wars were profitable. Everyone wanted mercenaries and the chaos generally resulted in a number of dispossessed menfolk in need of housing and company. Which he, been a generous soul, was all too happy to provide. In return for loyal service, of course.

Malai was well trained, enough that Jarlaxle wanted to snatch up a few of his cousins. Unfortunately, that skill combined with the perception of high social connections had meant that the other drow were cautious to challenge him directly. Meaning that he bulled about the place as if he were superior to the houseless men and older mercenaries. The kind of thing that led to resentment and infighting. And fights amongst drow always led to fatalities.

It wasn’t a social dynamic Jarlaxle particularly wanted to cement amongst his men, hence why he had taking to hosting social meals in the last two weeks. As well as being great entertainment and making poisonings a little trickier, it ensured everyone ended up in one place for fear of the other drow eating all the food. Artemis in particular only ever showed up for meals, spending the rest of his time sharpening his many many knives, glowering at the drow and exploring the volcanic tunnels, mapping his escape routes.

Sooner or later he and Malai had been bound to run into each other, and the natural dynamic of their respective personalities result in a fight.

Now Malai had been beaten in public by a human, a great humiliation. And Artemis had abruptly found himself the subject of more amorous attention than he had ever wanted in his life.

His general method of handling unwanted intrusions – a sharp and injurious method – was now regarded as a particularly feisty form of flirtation. His appalling lack of ears, previously a clear sign that the Gods of the Overworld were poor patrons, now merely added to his mysterious and exotic allure.

So mysterious was he, in fact, that Jarlaxle hadn’t seen him in days. He paused in the hallways of their stronghold, thinking. Artemis had grown extremely sullen after the brawl, likely expecting retaliation, only to instead be mobbed with admirers wherever he went. Including his attempts to shave at the underground springs. Last he had seen Artemis one of the younger fighters, Sajeh, had been quizzing him in broken Common over the purpose of a beard.

“Does it itch?”

“Go away.” Artemis had brandished his razor menacingly.

“Must you scratch it away everyday? Whatever is the purpose of that?”

“There isn’t. It's simply there.” He paused. “Useful for disguising oneself.”

Possibly the worst thing he could have said, for Sajeh had promptly explained to all the more gullible drow that Artemis had an inbuilt disguise, clearly rendering him superior to other humans. This was also, clearly, why humans slept twice as long as drow did.

This flight of fancy would pass in about a week. Jarlaxle had seen it all before. All his men had a fondness for new and shiny things, one that lapsed fairly rapidly. The moment a new fellow arrived in the door Artemis would be forgotten.

By all except him. He had bigger plans for his human.

Really, he had hoped Artemis would take advantage of the situation. He could have had his pick of the warriors, if he cared to choose one, which he plainly did not. Jarlaxle was a little disappointed, truth be told. He, of course, was obviously far too intimidating a prospect for Artemis to approach him directly and he knew better than to try and proposition him for he was a flighty creature, like one of those rare and delicate surface birds.

But one of the others would be perfectly suitable for a fling, and a fling or two might give Artemis the courage to take Jarlaxle up on his subtle and less-than-subtle offers.

Perhaps the darkness made him reluctant to engage on such matters. He was a surface creature after all. They needed light. Jarlaxle had never seen a desert, but he could well imagine the kind of place to create a human like his _abbil_.

He would visit that one first, when he reached the surface. 

Giggles in the hallway ahead of him made his ears twitch, and the shadowy flicker of drow darting away from the scene of their mischief.

“Now, now. What is it I always tell you? We walk, we don’t run,” he chided the empty corridor. “You don’t want to look guilty, do you?”

He was rewarded by the heavy silence of panic. Ah, to be young and foolish. He turned away to investigate their antics. Stuffing someone into a barrel and rolling them down the stairs, perhaps? That one was an evergreen favourite. Ah! Malai lay sprawled on the stairs in the wreckage of a broken barrel, groaning. He bore a fresh cut to his shoulder. Not Artemis’s work- he always went for the neck.

“What a magnificent scar that will leave!” Malai flinched at the sound of his voice and looked down as Jarlaxle approached. Bully though he was, he had had the sense not to challenge Jarlaxle directly. “You must have taken quite the tumble down the stairs.”

“I- yes.”

Good. There was a brain in there somewhere. He could be made into something useful yet. Jarlaxle gave him a smile that was all teeth and took a hold of the sprained elbow to steer him downwards. Malai squeaked somewhere low in his throat but knew better than to resist.

“I must insist that you go see Apol.” A lower city healer he had picked up a few months ago, greatly skilled with herbs and bandages and matters of blood and bone. Who had also taken quite the shine to Malai, only to be scared off by his abrasive personality. Perhaps the two of them would bond. Apol didn’t need children from Malai, after all, and the fighter was likely feeling pitiful enough that he would take to such interest gratefully.

Speaking of abrasive, wherever was his _abbil_?

It took him two hours to find the human, tucked away on a little rock platform jutting out of the cliff where his men made their home. Artemis had, presumably, pulled himself physically up through one of the hollow volcanic tubes in the rock. Jarlaxle was almost impressed. Those chimneys were narrow and long, and even experienced drow found them tricky to navigate. Artemis was very determined to avoid his would-be suitors.

Luckily, Jarlaxle could levitate. Artemis glared as he dropped down silently next to him and immediately started to fuss with his cloak so that it sat right.

“If you tell anyone I’m here I will kill you where you stand and throw your corpse into the rift.”

Ah, _abbil_ , always ready to hide a body.

“The last thing I would ever see would be your eyes. How romantic.”

“What do you want?”

“It seems you might like a mission away from our lovely den of thieves-”

“To the surface?”

“Not yet.” _Soon. Together._ “I want a baby.”

That made Artemis pause. There was nothing quite as satisfying as rendering the human briefly speechless.

“I...don’t think we can help each other in that regards.”

“Of course we can! You’re going to steal one.”

Of all things he hadn’t expected Artemis to stiffen.

“I am not a kidnapper.”

“Of course not.” Jarlaxle knew many things, some of them useful, and what he didn’t know he could usually piece together. Artemis’s family hadn’t valued him any more than Jarlaxle’s had valued him. That was why they were going to be such good friends. “But perhaps in this case you can be a rescuer. The babe is intended for sacrifice.”

“As are hundreds. What makes this one special?”

_I can get to this one._

“His disappearance and the instability I spin from it are profitable.” Such a rapid disappearance combined with Malai’s condition would be enough for the other houses to decide that the young priestess had never been pregnant at all. Enough to decide that house X’ra was weak. Enough to encourage the hungry to bite.

“Of course.” Artemis shifted to count the knives in his boots. Another creature might need time to prepare, but his human was always ready. “Still strikes me as a wasteful custom.”

“They can always make another.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice and Artemis eyed him sidelong as the facade slipped. The human seemed most interested in him when he lost control. Of course he was. Weren’t all creatures most fascinated by that which they lacked, that which they desired?

“What are you going to feed it?”

“Oh, I have my sources.” Resentful younger daughters, mostly, looking for power and influence however they could. _Feed this child and I’ll offer discounted service when you take this house from your mother. Perhaps I’ll send along that handsome blade-fighter to lead the attack, that one you have your eye on, yes?_ “A more important question is what we name him. Perhaps Artemis?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“It would be a most unique name!”

“It would be a curse.”

Oh, _abbil._

“Mmm, less a curse and more eccentric perhaps, to name a child after a dead God.” That was bait and Artemis plainly knew it. But he also plainly knew that Jarlaxle couldn’t abide a silence, and so he was quiet and baited him in turn.

Jarlaxle did so love their games.

“An old Goddess of the moon, from what I understand. A protector of children and animals.” A hunter who never missed her mark, who found freedom in isolation.

Artemis scoffed.

“And why would a drow know about surface gods?”

He hummed and shrugged as he searched through his satchel for plans of the X’ra house.

Why indeed. Why know anything at all? Why think about the surface when he could survive down here?

Why survive when he could be free? He had been planning it for years. An expansion into the surface world now that the Bregan D’aerthe were strong and steady and powerful enough to sustain themselves without his hand on the tiller. He couldn’t wait. The thought made his heart race with excitement, more than any theft, more than any duel, more than any tryst. The surface, and all its treasures. The surface, and all its profit. The surface, and all its freedom.

“You look happy.” Artemis was suspicious and Jarlaxle couldn’t help but smile. _Companionship._

_We’re going to be such good friends, you and I._

“Ah, merely recalling a pleasant dream.”

“Elves don’t dream in reverie.”

“Some of us do.” _I can dream. And I dream in colours magnificent._ “In the meantime, here is the plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this come find me at Happyorogeny over on tumblr!


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